Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn. A tightness settled in Amelia's chest as she watched the fence line. Any second, she knew. She’d heard the telltale scratching at the base of the rickety structure. Her hands were clenched into fists.

She’d just finished planting her prize-winning petunias. Months of care, a perfect bloom cycle, all at risk. A low growl rumbled in the distance, followed by a frantic yipping.

"Here we go again," Amelia muttered under her breath, a tremor in her voice. She grabbed the garden hose, gripping the nozzle with white knuckles. Her gaze darted back and forth, from her flowers to the anticipated point of entry.